


Cocktober 24: Carnival AKA Billy Learns to be Loved

by Glitter_Bug



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Is Bad at Feelings, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Smut, Swearing, but he tries, not overly descriptive, slight angst, the tiniest bit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-24
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:02:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,921
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27182168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glitter_Bug/pseuds/Glitter_Bug
Summary: Steve tries to show Billy how much he cares, Billy learns how to accept it.'Steve slowly dropped the box back into his desk drawer, head spinning and eyes burning.He lay back on the bed, pressing his fists to his eyes and watching the last few minutes churn around and around in his brain.He’d fucked up. Gone in too heavy, too soon. Tied up their ‘no-strings’ summer fun with a damn silver ribbon.'
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 11
Kudos: 136
Collections: Cocktober Prompt Meme





	Cocktober 24: Carnival AKA Billy Learns to be Loved

**Author's Note:**

> Another mostly fluffy, almost entirely un-proof read Cocktober entry.
> 
> Flangst, maybe? More fluff than angst so flufst?

They'd been having a good day, Steve thought, a day that had started with Billy ringing the doorbell at eight in the morning, already hard and with a bottle of lube tucked into his back pocket. A day that promised wonders.

"Rise and shine, Stevie," he'd smirked as soon as Steve opened the door, bleary eyed and with hair still mussed up from his pillow, “Or, y’know, at least rise,” he let his gaze rest on Steve’s crotch as he licked his lips, “That’s all I really need.”

Steve rolled his eyes and stood back to let him in, his hand reaching out to give Billy’s ass a squeeze as soon as he’d crossed the threshold. 

And the day continued in much the same vein. It was pretty much how Billy and Steve had been spending most of their summer so far, or at least the days when neither of them had to work. A morning of discovery as they investigated all of the ways in which hands and mouths could be put to good use, a break for food and much needed hydration, and then they were straight back to exploring each other again.

And then there had been a pause. One of those rare moments that were starting to get less rare, a lull when neither of them could quite summon up the energy to go again, and so instead they just lay together- Billy's head resting on Steve's chest, Steve's fingers drawing patterns along Billy's arms, tracing out hearts and stars and flowers. 

It had been soft. Warm. Nice.

It was the kind of moment that Steve was starting to enjoy the most. Not that he didn't like the sex and the many, many orgasms that Billy could wrench from his body with diligent fingers and a wicked tongue- Steve very much enjoyed that too- but this intimacy, this closeness; that was what Steve missed most whenever Billy left.

What he looked forward to most whenever Billy invited himself over. 

So of course Steve had to screw it up.  
  


“Hey,” he said, voice a little hoarse from all the sounds he’d been making only a half-hour ago, “I, uh, I got you something.”

And Steve had been so sure, so eager when he presented Billy with the box, the dumb gift-box all wrapped in shiny blue paper and tied with a silver bow. The box that had been sitting in his desk drawer for a week now, just waiting for the right moment.

Billy had glanced at Steve in confusion, fingers reaching out to pick apart the paper with a kind of hesitancy that really didn't suit him at all.

And then he'd opened the box, flipping the lid to reveal the two earrings, both diamond studs edged in gold, one square and one round. The kind of thing that was understated, but obviously expensive. Not exactly Billy's usual style, but Steve had wanted to treat him to something special.

Something he’d never get for himself. 

Billy stared at them for a moment, unblinking.

Then he'd sneered, had shoved the box back into Steve's hands

"Not your fucking girlfriend, Harrington." 

He strode out of the room, leaving Steve sitting on the bed, the box in his palm.

For such a small thing, it suddenly felt as heavy as lead in Steve's hand, matching the drop in his stomach and the fist gripping at his heart.

Steve slowly dropped the box back into his desk drawer, head spinning and eyes burning. 

He lay back on the bed, pressing his fists to his eyes and watching the last few minutes churn around and around in his brain. 

He’d fucked up. Gone in too heavy, too soon. Tied up their ‘no-strings’ summer fun with a damn silver ribbon.

He lay there staring at the ceiling, wondering how the hell he was going to fill his days off now. 

Steve moped for a while, replaying the entirety of his and Billy’s relationship in his head, going over each moment in detail and picking apart all the ways he’d ruined things, the pang in his chest growing each time he pictured Billy’s happy face, or his rumble of laughter, his hands which would sometime caress Steve’s hair and his face rather than just his cock and his ass; the way Billy had started dragging Steve out of the house instead of into the bedroom, taking him along to the grocery store to fill Steve’s fridge with things that were fresh and green and that Billy would turn into meals for the two of them. 

Steve suddenly remembered the dishes still cluttering the table downstairs, the leftovers from a lunch hastily abandoned when Billy's foot had made its way up Steve's leg, rubbing firmly at his crotch and suggesting a far more appetising option than food. 

His heart gave another lurch, and Steve decided that enough was enough, that he may as well be productive instead of just pathetic, may as well think of Billy while cleaning instead of while crying.

So Steve trudged his way downstairs. Only to be met with the broad back of Billy Hargrove, bent over the sink, up to the elbows in suds and furiously scrubbing at a dish.

“Billy?” Steve stopped in the doorway, blinking.

“Shoulda soaked these,” Billy didn’t turn around, but his voice was rough, “cheese is a bitch to get off.”

Steve grabbed a dish towel and made his way over to stand next to Billy.

It only took a few minutes before Billy was snapping at Steve’s bare arms with the wet dish towel. It only took a few more minutes before Billy was down on his knees, mouth open and Steve’s still wet hands gripping in his hair. 

Neither of them mentioned the earrings again.

  
A few months later the summer sun was long forgotten and an autumn chill had started to permeate the air.

They were sitting together on the hood of Billy’s Camaro, had been there for hours, parked in one of Hawkin’s undiscovered beauty spots, a place shielded by trees and overlooking a pond that was just big enough to pass for a lake if you squinted.

It was the kind of place no one else knew, somewhere they felt safe enough to sit close, pressed together all down one side, Billy’s curls tickling Steve’s cheek whenever the wind blew just right, or when he leaned his head back to laugh- something he’d been doing a lot in the past ten minutes, as Steve tried his hardest to explain exactly what type of weird little whiny noise his BMW was making,

“It’s kinda like a neeeeeeoooooowm,” Steve attempted, sounding more like a strangled cat than any type of engine, and Billy laughed again, falling even further into Steve who just carried on, relishing the glee in Billy’s eyes, “And then it clicks, but not like ‘click-click-click’, it’s more of a ‘ch-click, ch-click, ch-click,’ sorta like that…” 

Billy howled again, and Steve couldn’t hold back his own chuckle as he watched Billy trying, and failing, to get himself back under control.

“Oh God, Stevie,” he spluttered, body still shaking, “N-n-never, never d-d-do that again.” Billy’s body jerked as he let out a shuddery sigh.

Steve turned to him, suddenly realising that Billy’s shaking hadn’t been entirely down to the laughter, that his desire to press so firmly into Steve’s side wasn’t purely out of his usual need to always be touching Steve, but was also down to a more primal need for warmth. Because Billy was _freezing_. Steve could see his teeth chattering, could feel the little shivers still running up and down his body. 

“Jesus, Bill!” Steve wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him in closer, “Why didn’t you say, we could’ve sat in the car,”

“N-n-nah,” Billy shook his head, “Know you l-llike the s-s-sunset. C-c-can’t see it as w-w-well through the w-w-windscreen.”

Steve shook his head, and took his scarf off, winding it around Billy's neck and tucking the ends into his jacket. 

"You ever gonna start dressing for the weather?"

Billy shrugged, pulling Steve closer, 

"Would rather let y-y-ou warm me up, p-p-pretty boy."

Billy left Steve’s house that night with Steve's scarf still wrapped around his neck.

He returned the next morning with it still in place, tied less neatly this time. He didn’t even get out of the car, just beeped the horn obnoxiously until Steve opened the door, then wound down the window to yell at him.

“Come on Steve, I’ve gotta get Susan’s dry cleaning,”

Steve held up a finger, a ‘one minute’ gesture, and ran back inside the house to grab something, before dropping into the passenger seat and passing the bundle over to Billy.

“Stop you getting frostbite,” Steve’s smile hiding the fierce hammering of his heart.

He hadn’t wrapped them this time, he’d just carefully folded the scarf and placed the matching gloves on top. They were a deep, dark blue, a shade that Steve knew from experience would make Billy's eyes look exquisite.

Billy ran a finger along the soft material, his eyes growing wide as he saw the labels proclaiming them ‘100% cashmere’. Then he drew his hand back and tugged at his neck, pulling the old scarf away and throwing it back at Steve.

"I don't need coddling,” he hissed,“gonna wipe my ass and bring me sandwiches next, mommy?'

Steve looked down and bit his lip, deciding not to mention the fact that he'd actually spent a good twenty minutes with his tongue into Billy's ass only a few days ago, and Billy had had no complaints then. Or that he quite often brought snacks on their dates, because he knew that it wasn't unusual for Neil to think that Billy didn't seem grateful enough for Susan's cooking, and to kick him out of the house without any dinner.

Instead he mumbled at his shoes,

“Just thought you might...next time we’re at the lake.”

Billy huffed, flinging the cashmere scarf into the backseat and pulling away from Steve’s house with a lot more speed than was necessary.

Billy was silent all the way to the dry cleaners, turning his music up loud and drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, refusing to even look at Steve. Steve stayed quiet too, lips drawn tightly together as Billy picked up the clothes and drove back to Steve’s house.

Billy turned off the radio as he parked in the driveway, and he turned to Steve, placing a hand on his arm,

“Lemme take a look at your car,” he said, his voice quiet and with a touch of embarrassment in his tone, “‘s probably a quick fix, just a belt needs tightening or something.”

Steve turned to him, a smile growing on his face, 

“Ok, Bill.”

They took Steve’s car out for a test drive to their lake that night. Stopping, as usual, to watch the sun go down.

Before he got out of the car, Billy fished the new scarf out of the backseat, wrapping it tightly around his neck. Steve smiled when he saw it.

***

A few days later, Billy was most definitely not amused. The Hawkins’ Fall Carnival was clearly not what he had been expecting when Steve had asked him along, and a part of Steve felt a little guilty. A much larger part was enjoying watching Billy traverse the ground, trying desperately to keep his boots from getting ruined.

“This isn’t a carnival,” he grumbled, grimacing as he squelched in a patch of mud, “this is a bunch of hicks gathered in a field,”

“Come on,” Steve grinned at him, his own Nikes already splattered with brown stains, “it’ll be fun, beats just doing nothing.”

“I didn’t _have_ to be doing nothing,” Billy muttered, “Coulda been doing you,” 

Steve felt the flush bloom on his cheeks, and he ducked his head a little, “My parents are home,” he whispered, “We can’t-” 

“Oh we coulda done,” Billy’s smile was wicked, “Just gotta be a little quieter, squealer.” 

Steve knew he was beet-red now, and Billy’s filthy laugh didn’t help matters.

“Come on,” Steve said again, “Just give it a chance. For me.”

“For you.” Billy’s voice still had a grumpy edge, but when Steve looked up at him, Billy’s smile was the warmest he’d ever seen. Steve felt his face glow even more. 

They’d barely made it past the entrance of the carnival when Billy stuck out a hand to stop Steve in his tracks.

“Betchya can’t do that,” he was pointing at one of the dumb little game stalls, watching as Ted Wheeler tried, and failed, to knock over a tower of cans with a ball.

“Betchya I can,” Steve smirked, “C’mon Hargrove, what’s it worth?”

“Blow job?” Billy shrugged,

“Nah, I’m getting that anyway. How about…” Steve thought for a moment, then a cocky grin spread over his face as he held out his hand, “How about if I win, you’ve gotta play my mix tapes in the car for a month,”

“A week,” Billy countered,

“Three weeks,” 

“Two weeks,”

“Done!” Steve grabbed Billy’s hand and shook on it, “And I just happen to be the absolute champion at this, so I hope you like Duran Duran.”

Billy rolled his eyes, “Hope you like walking,” he muttered as he followed Steve to the stall.

Five minutes later, Steve had turned to Billy with desperation in his eyes,

“It’s rigged. They’re stuck down, they _have_ to be!” he whined, fingers clasped around his last tennis ball and an annoyingly erect tower of cans still standing in front of him.

“Come on, champion,” Billy mocked lightly, moving close enough to press against Steve’s back without drawing too much attention, he leaned over to whisper right in Steve’s ear, “Might even sing along if you get ‘em all with this shot.” 

Steve took aim and hurled the ball, sending one can flying but leaving the rest stubbornly standing. 

“Ahh shit,” he groaned, as Billy crowed in triumph next to him.

“Not to worry, young sir,” the old guy manning the stall raised an eyebrow at Steve’s language, “You still get a prize. Anything from the bottom row.” he gestured to a line of toys, and Steve knew instantly which one he wanted.

He pointed to the squishy rooster, a yellow monstrosity with two lop-sided, bulging eyes, a floppy red crest and a bulging red wattle under its chin.

It was hideous.

It was perfect.

He handed it over to Billy before he'd thought about it. It just came naturally. Win a prize, hand it to your...person.

As soon as he realised what he’d done, Steve’s stomach clenched, and he steadied himself for the cutting remark, the insult, Billy storming off. 

Instead Billy threw his head back and laughed until the tears were falling from his eyes.

"Christ Harrington, you picked the ugliest fucking prize. It's, oh god, is it a chicken? A rooster? There was a damn BB gun there y'know, coulda had some fun with that."

Steve flushed a little with embarrassment, waiting for Billy to shove the toy back at him.

But Billy kept hold and gave it a little stroke on the red comb with his index finger,

"He needs a name," Billy grinned, “Something cool. Something worthy of a cock this wonderful.”

"You wanna keep it?" Steve gasped, and Billy looked a little surprised,

“Damn right I do, you won it for me, right?” 

“Well, yeah, but you don’t-”

“So I’m keeping it. Him.” And Billy placed the chicken right under his chin, zipping up his jacket to keep it safe, its head just peeking out of the top. 

“C’mon Steve, let’s go take my cock for a spin,” he grinned, marching off in the direction of a Tilt-a-Whirl and dragging Steve along by the sleeve. 

Despite his initial protests, Billy seemed to enjoy himself at the fair, hauling Steve from one ride to the next, taking advantage of all the spinning ones to press against Steve’s side,his hands falling wildly against Steve’s body and, on one very brief occasion, his lips falling against Steve’s cheek. Steve watched as Billy’s hand would keep flying up to his chest, keep on patting at the little chicken and making sure it was secure, still safely nestled under Billy’s chin, even during the most turbulent rides.

Eventually though, they could take no more. Steve’s head was starting to whirl, and Billy had thrown up his last two corn dogs, insisting that they tasted better coming up than going down. Steve took that as the sign to leave, and helped to steer a rather dizzy Billy in a meandering path to the Camaro.

As soon as he got in, Billy set the chicken down on the dashboard, its legs splayed out in front. 

"There we go chicky-dee, you sit up front,' he said, patting the chicken on the head.

“You still not named it yet?” Steve smiled at the dumb toy, sitting pride of place in Billy’s car.

“Nah, you think of anything?”, Billy started the car, the radio coming on immediately and ear-splittingly, _Seven Wonders_ blaring out into the night 

Steve thought for a moment, then his eyes went wide,

“Stevie!” he shouted,

“You want me to call it after you?” Billy shrugged, “I guess it is a very fine cock, so that makes-”

"Not me!” Steve rolled his eyes and gestured at the radio, “Stevie Chicks.”

Billy’s laugh was even louder than the radio.

“Stevie Chicks it is,” he grinned. 


End file.
